


Be Ready When Opportunity Comes

by sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Banter, Bathing/Washing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 07:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13608720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/pseuds/sunspot
Summary: Hawke must fulfill some of the less pleasant duties bestowed on the Champion of Kirkwall, but he's got Varric to help him get ready.





	Be Ready When Opportunity Comes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tuesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/gifts).



> Happy Chocolate Box <3

It's not that Hawke's been avoiding anyone specific by holing up for the last week, he's just been… catching up on his correspondence. And avoiding everyone, specifically.

"Correspondence? I thought everything except letters from Bethany went straight in the fire," Varric says, letting himself into Hawke's bedroom.

Hawke sighs, tossing aside the book he wasn't really reading. Of course Varric knows him too well.

"Go find all Orana's shoes and chew them," he says to Dog, and then turning back to Varric, "you know, she wasn't supposed to let you in."

"Don't blame her. She couldn't resist my charms." Varric takes a seat on the overstuffed armchair in the corner.

"What charms?" Hawke says, knowing even as he says it that he's openly staring at Varric's easy sprawl. Not that it's his fault for leering, it's just that Varric sits like he's the Maker's gift to chairs everywhere.

"Sorry Hawke. We all have to do things we don't want to from time to time. They'll never stop hounding if you don't go up there this morning."

Hawke hauls himself out of his bed, dishevelled and looking miserable. "Let's get it over with."

Varric flashes him a dazzling, toothy smile. "You can't leave the house looking like that, can you?"

As if she'd been waiting for a cue, Orana pushes open the door, and nearly gets the washtub in without incident until Dog knocks it out of her arms.

When the clatter subsides, the tub is set up in front of the fire and Orana makes a hasty retreat, Dog still following closely behind her. Possibly bent on revenge on behalf of his master, but more probably because it was almost tea time and he wanted a biscuit.

Hawke glances between Varric and the bath. "You're going to watch, hmm? You lecherous goon."

"I'm under strict merchant guild orders to make sure you turn up presentable for your portrait. Can't have you pouring yourself out with the bathwater; I'd be cast out. Sent to live in the Anderfels, living like a hermit, _growing a beard._..."

So, the portrait session is going to be as fun as pulling the eye teeth from an ogre, but maybe getting ready holds a glimmer of potential…

Facing away from Varric, Hawke strips off his tunic and throws it towards the basket his laundry's been collecting in all week. He's expecting some kind of response, but there's just silence. He shimmies his hips. It should be unstoppably sexy, and hopefully enough to make Varric forget about the stupid portrait the city wants so badly, but Varric doesn't even clear his throat.

"Oh really? Nothing?" He turns just in time for his elbow to collide with Varric's shoulder.

"It's a wonder you get any shit done sometimes," Varric says, tugging at the string holding Hawke's pants up.

"I just need to be properly motivated." Hawke bends to press a wet kiss to his cheek, but Varric bats him away, chuckling.

"You're stalling, Hawke. There's only so many times I'll fall for it."

"A man can always hope," Hawke chirps back before finally stepping into the water. The water is not nearly as hot as it should be, but it's tolerable enough when Hawke finally sinks down into the tub.

He cups water in his hands to pour over his face and yeah, maybe a bath is exactly what he needed to relax and fortify before he has to sit for his fucking portrait, but Hawke's not about to say it aloud, because then Varric will gloat.

Gloating is not attractive, except when Varric does it, but that's just frustrating as anything because there should be an upper limit to what a man or dwarf is allowed to make seem so damned charming. Hawke's not about to say any of that aloud either.

He doesn't need to say much though, because Varric's kneeling next to the tub and rolling up his sleeves and the thinky-wordy parts of Hawke's brain temporarily combust.

Strong fingers dig into his scalp, rubbing at his temples and behind his ears. Hawke's eyes snap shut and he makes a very dignified, very respectable groaning sound and slides deeper into the tub. Varric chuckles again, very close by, and keeps on scrubbing at Hawke's head. He dips his hands in the water a few times, and the trickles down the back of Hawke's neck and shoulders are enough to make him shiver.

There's a sharp smell of soap, and Hawke raises his hand to wipe some bubbles away from his brow, but mostly he leans back into Varric's hands, and lets himself be washed.

"Not hurting you, am I?"

"If this is your version of rough, you can rough me up anytime."

Hawke grins, eyes still closed, when Varric laughs. His hands slip down to Hawke's shoulders and he digs his thumbs into the knots. Hawke groans again. "Ahh, I take it all back, I'm too delicate for this abuse."

Varric lets go and stands. "Come on then. You're as clean as you're getting."

"Wait, no," Hawke says, opening his eyes to flutter his lashes. "Please, it was just getting good."

Varric sighs the long-suffering sigh Hawke recognizes as the one he hears right before someone gives into him. He grins up at Varric, just barely taller now that's standing.

"Two minutes," Varric warns, tapping the side of the tub. "Or you're going to be so late, we'll never hear the end of it."

Hawke sits up a little straighter so Varric can reach his shoulders again, but Varric surprises him by reaching into the tub and cupping his cock instead.

"Hnngh," Hawke says eloquently.

"I know," Varric says, gripping him loosely and testing out a few measured strokes. "Two minutes, remember?"

Hawke tries to quip back, but it's absolutely no use whatsoever trying to think of words again, so he shuts up and watches Varric's furrowed brow and tiny smile. It's the perfect face of Varric's concentration. The face Hawke sees when Varric's editing a tough passage for his latest book, the face he makes when combat with this-or-that mercenary thug group is leaning in their favour, and, blessedly, it's the face Hawke most often gets to see in moments like this one.

He puts his hand against Varric's face, dripping water, and as much as Varric rolls his eyes, he presses a quick kiss to Hawke's palm.

Under the water, Varric holds Hawke's cock a little tighter and moves a little slower, a combination that makes Hawke's insides tighten. He moans again, almost as satisfied as he was when Varric was washing his hair, and lets his head thunk back against the edge of the tub. "Good," he hisses out.

Varric doesn't reply, because of course it's good, he's been undoing Hawke with one hand or the other for well over a year now. Varric's bracing himself on the tub with his other hand, so Hawke has something to grab on to as he gets closer to coming.

"Do _not_ splash me," Varric says, thumbing over the head of Hawke's cock, making Hawke jolt in the water.

Hawke looks at him with wide eyes, biting hard on his lip with the focus on not jumping again. "Nyargh," he says expressively.

"I know," says Varric again, rewarding him with another winning Tethras smile and a deft twist of the wrist on his last upwards stroke.

Hawke comes, fingers still wrapped around Varric's wrist. "Good," he says, after a moment or two of contemplation. "A bit wet though." Varric extracts himself, shaking water off his arm while he fetches Hawke's towel.

"I swear," Varric mutters. "Garrett Hawke, you're impossible."

* * *

"I think the damn thing turned out pretty nice," Hawke says, elbow on Varric's shoulder. "I look dashing."

"I like it," Anders agrees. "But you kind of look self-important."

Fenris looks pointedly at Hawke, barely holding back his smirk. "So, exactly like normal."

Merrill smiles, then frowns, then smiles again with her eyes half-closed, then frowns, and tries a big grin, before frowning one last time and turning to Hawke. "You look very happy in the portrait, Hawke, but I can't tell how." She tries another smile, one eye squinting, eyebrow arched.

"It's definitely not that one," Aveline says, chuckling at Merrill.

"Yeah, looks painful, Daisy."

Isabela is still squinting at the portrait before she finally laughs. "Wait, I _know_ that look."

"Shush," Varric says, reaching up to flick Isabela's ear before he marches towards the doors of the viscount's keep. "It's a fine portrait. Let's all stop commenting on it. There's got to be someone in Hightown who wants to pay us for some errands."

Behind his back, Isabela offers Hawke a high five.


End file.
